Cover of Darkness
by ellie.mc
Summary: Season 8. There's something in the Bunker with Sam and Dean - something quiet and dangerous, hunting the hunters. But how do you hunt something you can't see?
1. Chapter 1

Set in season 8, between _Everybody Hates Hitler_ and _Trial and Error_. The boys have the Bunker, but are still getting to know it. Reviews very welcome!

It was dark. That's how it started. Not lights off, curtains closed in the middle of the night dark. Not inside of your eyelids dark, where the darkness has depth and texture and little floaters if you squeeze your eyes shut tighter. It was deep in a cave, fifty feet underground darkness, the kind where you can hold your hand an inch from your face and still not see a damn thing.

Sam was researching in the Bunker library, last thing he remembered. It was late, he was tired, and not being long back from a hunt hadn't helped. Still, he'd wanted to learn some more about the Judah Initiative, and decided to research whilst it was still fresh in his mind. Dean had called it a night, heading for his room for an evening with a glass of Jack and the best of Zepp. The faint sounds of 'When The Levee Breaks' had followed. Sam had tuned it out, sat down at the table with an open book, and – he assumed – fallen asleep face down in the fine print.

His first thought was that the power had gone out. He dug in his pocket to get out his phone and pressed the button to light up the face of it. Nada. Frowning, he felt around on the table for one of the lamps, and flicked the switch several times uselessly before realising that, _stupid of course it's not going to work with the power out_. He stood up, the chair scraping slightly on the floor, and fished his Zippo from his other pocket. Flicking it caused it to light – he could tell by the faint and fleeting smell of lighter fluid and ozone, and the warmth around his hand – but there was no visible flame, no illumination. That's when the adrenalin and first stirring of fear kicked in. He pocketed the lighter and turned in a slow circle. Nothing. "Dean?" he called. The sound was muted, and didn't echo. "DEAN!" he tried again, raising his voice to a shout. He might as well have been whispering for all the good it did. He took a deep breath, and started feeling his way around the table. If he could get to the control room, maybe he could figure out what was going on.

Dean had his headphones on. Sitting back in his chair, feet up on the desk, he was enjoying the music with his eyes half closed. The whisky glass was empty beside the chair, and he was pleasantly buzzed. Without warning, the music stopped dead and the darkness dropped like a blanket. Power cut was his first thought as well, but he was more annoyed than worried, his buzz and the enjoyment of the music interrupted. "Son of a bitch.." he muttered, getting to his feet and putting a hand out to steady himself on the desk. There was a crunch underfoot and sharp pain, and he cursed loudly as shards from the forgotten whisky glass embedded themselves into the sole of his right foot. "GODDAMMIT! SAM!" He took a large step forward to avoid any more glass, and bumped into the bed. Glad of the safety, he sat down on it heavily. Just as Sam had, he tried both phone and Zippo without success. More cursing, and he resorted to careful probing with his fingers to check the sole of his foot. He winced as he came across several sharp pieces of glass, and pulled them free. His foot was wet and warm, bleeding freely. Pulling out his knife, he cut strips from his bed sheets haphazardly, and did his best to bind his foot in the dark. Then, standing up and gingerly testing his weight, he limped towards the door, arms outstretched and searching for it. When he reached the door frame, he braced himself against it, and shouted into the darkness again. "SAMMY!" It was only then that he realised how muffled sounds were. He took out his knife again, flicked it open, and started limping down the corridor, his other hand feeling the way along the wall.

In the darkness behind him, something moved silently. It crouched down to the floor, and wiped long, thin fingers across a smear of blood left by Dean's bandaged, bleeding foot. Lifting fingers to its mouth, it licked them delicately, and smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was making slow progress trying to find his way to the control room. The complete darkness was disorienting. He'd tripped on something innocuous – an uneven floorboard, most likely – and when he got up again, he wasn't sure which way he was facing. There weren't even any echoes in his movements to give him at least some sense of space or distance. He frowned, and pictured the room in his mind's eye; tables in the centre, stone columns, bookcases. If he could get to a bookcase, he could trace his way around the room to the doors, and then down the corridor to the control room. He got down onto his hands and knees, and felt his way across the floor. His head found one of the stone columns first, bumping into it lightly. Muttering a curse, he stood up carefully, and with a little more confidence, he started walking around the room with both hands on the bookcases. As he moved, his fingers brushed against something sharp, and he realised what it was – the scimitar Dean had taken a fancy to. He smiled to himself; now he knew which side of the room he was on. He kept moving.

Dean limped down the corridor with grim determination. This was more than a power cut, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. The floor disappeared briefly beneath him, and he let out a muted cry that was cut off when his foot hid solid stone again. _Just the steps_ , he told himself, shaking his head at his jitters. _Two down, and left to the library_. If Sam was still there, they could figure this out together. He rounded the wall at the bottom of the steps, and then stopped dead, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Someone or something was there in the darkness with him, behind him. He couldn't see it, but he could _sense_ it – that gut instinct he'd come to trust as a hunter. Straining to listen, he even thought that he heard that something breathing. Pushing slightly away from the wall, he spun around quickly, slashing out with the knife. The tip of it caught briefly on _something_ , and there was a hiss and a shuffle, but his second swing only sliced air. "I know you're there, you son of a bitch," Dean growled. A slightly louder movement behind him caught his attention, and he turned and swung again. The blade connected, and the familiar cry of pain stopped him short. "Sammy?!" He dropped the knife, and grabbed out blindly, his hands bunching at the fabric of his brother's shirt. "Sam, jesus. I'm sorry, I thought—are you ok? Talk to me!"

Sam hissed an intake of breath, one of relief at his brother's voice and pain from the slice of the knife. "Dean? Dammit, you sliced my shoulder," he said through gritted teeth. "What the hell is going on?"

Both of their voices muffled by the mysterious darkness sounded little more than whispers, but Dean sagged a little in relief at the assurance he hadn't hurt Sam badly. "There's something in here with us," Dean said. "I grazed it, I know I did. I think it's the reason for this freaky ass darkness. We gotta try and get some light in here."

"No kidding," Sam replied. "I was trying to get to the control room but if this is some kind of magic that's not gonna do a damn thing. How in the hell did this thing get in here, anyway?" he muttered.

"Let's work that one out _after_ we've killed it," Dean said darkly. "We need to see what we're doing first, and I gotta get some damn shoes on. We'll get through the library and outside. Maybe we can dig up some stuff from the arsenal in the trunk. You got some books in there, right?"

Sam huffed a wry laugh. "Specific to this situation? Not likely, but can't hurt to look."

"Alright. Better than no plan at all," Dean said. "C'mon. I'm pretty sure my foot's still bleeding, and your shoulder's got to be." He bent down and groped around until he found the dropped knife then stood again. Arms around each other's waists, the boys moved carefully through the darkness back into the library.

The thing behind sniffed the air. Two prey. More blood. Dropping low to the ground to avoid being a target again, it followed their scent. Its eyes might have been underdeveloped, but its other senses were sharp as a knife, and the protective miasma of darkness it exuded was better than any camouflage.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** _Thanks for the comments so far! I know the chapters are short, but I don't have many opportunities to write for extended periods of time, so I tend to rattle off short but frequent updates. Hopefully I'll get more opportunity over Christmas. Hurt!Sam._

* * *

Getting through the library was easier, with the two of them together. Sam walked on the left, using his hand to trace along the walls and bookcases and focusing on where they were going. Dean on the right hand had the knife, and his ears open for any sounds. "I know this thing is watching us," he growled. "I can _feel_ it. Why isn't it making a move?"

"Maybe because two people are harder to take down than one?" Sam suggested. "Come on, we're nearly there."

"I don't like the thought that we're leaving this thing to roam around the bunker whilst we're not there," Dean grumbled. "Who knows what it's doing, putting its stinking… whatever it has all over our stuff."

"It's not gonna be for long," Sam said. "And we'll be armed better when we're back."

The thing kept a safe distance. Whilst it didn't understand the sounds the prey animals were making, with two of them together it would be harder to attack, and the scratch it had taken from the smaller one's swing made it warier. It watched as the two reached the bottom of the steps that led to higher ground, and considered. They would have to separate to climb, even if only for a moment. It moved forward, and then as the smaller one moved ahead of the bigger one onto the first step, it lunged.

Sam was grabbed from behind, and yanked backwards into the darkness. He let out a yelp of surprise. The thing was strong, and had small barbed claws that hooked into his shirt and pressed point-sharp against his skin. He struggled and tried to lash out at whatever had him, but it had the advantage. It bit him, sharp points on his already injured shoulder, and the bite wound burned hot. His muscles began to grow sluggish, hard to move. _Venom_ , he thought. _Fast_. Try as he might, he couldn't get his body to respond. Dragged across the floor towards the library, his head connected with one of the stone columns. Everything went black.

Dean turned instantly at Sam's cry. Of course, there was nothing to see, but he could still tell his brother was no longer there. "SAMMY!" No answer, just the faint sound of something being dragged before that too was smothered by the dark blanket. He instinctively took a step back off the stairs in the direction of the sound before realising it was futile. Thoughts rushed through his head at frantic lightning speed. _Need light. Lights don't work. Power doesn't work. Sam is hurt it got him. FOCUS. Think._ He turned back and flung himself up the stairs as fast as his injured foot and the darkness would let him. _Bleed when you got time to_. He batted at the door with his hands until he found the handle, and yanked it open, hoping for some natural light. It was dark outside, but just night-dark. A waxing gibbous moon in the sky helped. He yanked his keys from his pocket and ran to open the trunk of the Impala, eyes skittering across the contents. Gun. Knife. He grabbed them both, then stopped. _Flare. Lot brighter than a Zippo or a phone._ There were only three handheld flares in the trunk and he grabbed them both, then slammed the trunk closed again and ran back to the bunker. He could tell his feet were going to need some serious tending after this, but he had bigger priorities.

He shouldered open the door to the bunker, and stepped inside with trepidation. Fear of the darkness was new to him, but fear of what had happened to Sam overcame it. He strained his ears to listen, and heard nothing. Taking the first flare, he ripped the lighter cord. _Please work please work._ The flare sputtered, sparked, and then burned hot. For a few terrible seconds, Dean thought it hadn't worked, and then the chemical-hot flare cut through the darkness. It wasn't perfect by any means – he could see in about a 10 foot radius before the darkness swallowed the light again – but it was better than nothing. _Don't set anything on fire_. He switched the flare to his left hand, took out his gun, and started down the stairs.

* * *

Sam woke up in the darkness. His body was a mass of pins and needles, still numb to sensation in places, but the effects of the toxin were definitely fading. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, or where in the bunker he'd been dragged. There was hot, fetid breath on the side of his face, and a persistent wet, rough feeling by his temple. This _thing_ in the dark with him was licking his blood from a head wound he must have suffered when he was knocked out. He stiffened, and tried to move away, but his muscles weren't responsive enough yet. _Dean, I hope to god you're out there_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** _Two updates in one day!_

* * *

The smoky red light from the flare in Dean's hand would last 15 minutes, according to the label. Whether that would hold true in the mysterious darkness was another matter, one which he didn't want to have to find out about. Priority one was finding Sam, closely followed by putting down the thing that took him, and making it permanent. _No way this thing is going to trash the place less than a week after we got it_ , Dean thought grimly.

At the bottom of the stairs, the first column of the library had a stain on it. Dean crouched down to inspect it more closely. Blood. His jaw tightened. Sam's blood, almost certainly. He stretched out his arm to extend the light of the flare, and saw more smears of blood. The thing had dragged Sam this way. Dean picked up the pace, following the intermittent trail. It led to a door Dean hadn't explored beyond before, one that when opened revealed a set of wooden stairs leading down to somewhere that smelled of dust and dampness. "Great, a freaking cellar," he muttered to himself. He took a deep breath, and then started down the stairs.

* * *

The thing paused, drawing back from Sam. It went very still, very silent, and Sam heard it sniffing the air. He could see it in his mind's eye – a nebulous form, but one that had sensed something, and was now listening intently. A moment's pause, and then the thing moved, scuttling away. Sam tried moving again. His body tingled all over, and sensation was dulled. He could barely move, let alone be any kind of use in a fight situation. _Can't even get up_ , he thought in frustration. With an immense effort, he slid sideways. If he could even just drag himself across the floor, maybe he could fool the creature into thinking he'd gotten away when it inevitably returned. He started moving with difficulty. In the darkness, he imagined that he saw a faint red light. His mind was likely playing tricks on him, but he dragged himself in that direction anyway. It was better than aimless movement in the dark.

Dean reached the bottom of the stairs, and strained his eyes to the limits of the light. Sam had to be down here somewhere, but he was sure the _thing_ was too. "Come and get me, you son of a bitch!" he yelled as loud as the smothering darkness would let him. He was answered by being knocked bodily to the ground as the thing sprang from the darkness at him. The flare was knocked from his hand, and it rolled onto the ground, spinning in a circle. Semi-illuminated in its slowly spinning red glow was a hunched, oil-slick black animal the likes of which Dean had never seen. It was on all fours, but the front two limbs ended in twisted hands rather than paws, each finger sporting a barbed claw. Its spine was ridged, and its body was lean muscle. Its ears were large and pointed, and it had a short, almost flat muzzle. The eyes were tiny black points, and the nostrils were wide. The thing snarled, displaying a set of sharp and pointed teeth, and the flare went out. Dean lifted his gun and pulled the trigger, emptying the entire clip into the darkness where the creature had been. It yelped, and a flurry of movement told Dean that he might not have killed it, but he'd at least managed to hurt it, and scared it into running. He pulled out his second flare, breathing hard, and set it alight as he got to his feet. "SAMMY!" Stepping forward, he started searching for his brother, not knowing how long it would be before the creature returned. A dragging noise caught his attention, and he moved that way quickly. He nearly tripped over Sam – bleeding, dirty, crawling on the ground. "Holy crap! Sammy, I got you." He set the flare down, and tried to help his brother up.

"Can't walk," Sam said through gritted teeth. "Thing poisoned me."

"I'm gonna get you out of here even if I have to break my back carrying you," Dean said firmly. He heaved Sam up as best he could, most of the younger man's weight on his back and shoulder. "Can you hold the flare?" he asked. He grabbed the still burning tube from the ground and pressed it into his brother's palm.

"I think so," Sam said, doing his best to tighten numb fingers around it.

"Keep it out of my way and if you see that thing coming back, shove the burning end in its damn face," Dean said. With an effort, he straightened his legs and back, and dragged his brother up the stairs and through the door. The two of them collapsed onto the floor, and Dean kicked the door shut with a foot. "We need to find out if there's more than one way out of that freaking cellar. You seen any blueprints for this place?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** _Busy day! Still hoping to keep to a once a day update schedule, and only just made this one. Hope you're enjoying reading, and if you have any feedback, post a review!_

* * *

Down in the cellar, the creature was licking its wounds. The smaller prey with the weapon had hit it twice. After some gnawing, one of the metal slugs had been worked free from its hind leg, but the creature could feel another in its shoulder, one that it couldn't dislodge. It was limping as a result, hurt and angry. When it returned to where it'd left the bigger prey and found it gone, it screamed. When it tried to leave the cellar and found the door wouldn't open, it flung itself back down the stairs and starting hunting for a way out, knocking storage boxes out of its path.

* * *

Upstairs, Dean had dragged a small cupboard from a spare room out into the corridor, and used it to barricade the cellar door. The second flare was beginning to sputter by the time he'd finished. From behind the door, he and Sam could hear the faint sounds of the creature's fury.

"Is it just me, or are sounds getting clearer?" Sam asked.

"I think you're right," Dean said, wiping a hand across his brow. "And I swear I can actually _see_ a bit now. Maybe I injured it well enough that its defences were affected. I don't suppose you got your legs back yet? I'm gonna strain something if I have to drag your heavy ass through the whole bunker."

"Getting there," Sam said, testing his arms and legs. He tried to get up and made it to his knees before sagging again. "I can feel my hands and feet okay but definitely not all the way back yet."

The second flare went out. The boys blinked, adjusting to the absence of light. The darkness was definitely no longer all encompassing. "I can kind of see you," Dean said. "I guess that's something." He pulled out his Zippo and tested it. The flame was the faintest glow in the darkness, but it was better than before. "Al _right._ Now we're getting somewhere." He pulled out the final flare and handed it to Sam. "We got 15 minutes, so we need to work fast." He helped his brother to his feet, and with the flare burning, the two of them stumbled towards the library.

"Wait," Sam said as they passed the door to the kitchen. "If flares work, we can make something that should help. Give me a hand. We need… uh. Energy drinks. Couple of bottles. And grab that bleach," he pointed. "And baking soda."

Dean complied dubiously. "What the hell does all this stuff do?" he asked.

"Just mix them up, like this," Sam demonstrated, adding peroxide to the bottles. "And a bit of baking soda." He screwed the cap back on and shook the bottle, and it began glowing. "Chemical reaction," he grinned in the glow of the light.

"Times like this I'm glad you're a massive nerd," Dean said dryly. Within a minute they had two more makeshift glow sticks.

Taking them into the library, Dean dumped Sam onto a chair, and then hurried round the room. "Blueprints blueprints blu- _here._ " He yanked a folder off a shelf, and returned it to the table, unfolding the contents. The glowing bottles provided just enough light in the muted darkness to read by.

Sam cast his eyes over them. "Ok, ok.. library, corridor.." he traced his fingers over the paper. " _Cellar_. Got it." He examined the blueprints closely. "Ok, you blocked the main entrance. There's ventilation ducts, but how big was that thing?" he asked, looking up at Dean. "Would it fit?"

"Depends how desperate it gets, I guess," Dean says. "And how smart it is. I kind of get the impression it's all about instinct rather than strategy. But _what_ is it?"

"I was thinking about that," Sam said. "And I wondered if it was anything to do with the Thule. Given it's the last thing we ran up against, it's a pretty strong contender, right? Maybe that necromancer set something on us." He reached across the table for the books he'd been reading before the darkness fell and pushed one towards Dean. "Here. Two sets of eyes are better than one."

Dean shook his head. "Man, I hope we got something in here," he said, opening the book.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: Only time for an even shorter than usual update today, unfortunately. Hoping to wrap it up tomorrow, though!**

* * *

The creature had prowled around the cellar for some time, sniffing at every corner of the room for another way out. When that had failed to turn up anything, it had returned to the door, and clawed at it ineffectively. It was simply too sturdy for anything short of an axe to break down, especially with the cupboard blocking it. The creature was trapped and increasingly desperate, panting heavily from exertion and blood loss and anger and fear. It lifted its head to howl its frustrations- and stopped, sniffing the air. _Fresh_ air. A silver tube overhead with some kind of covering suggested freedom. The creature climbed on top of stacked boxes, and clawed at the mesh cover. It swung free and clattered to the floor, and the creature squeezed inside. It could smell its prey, the scent carried on the circulating air, and it began to move purposefully down the tube, its claws clicking on the metal.

* * *

In the library, the final flare had gone out, but the glow bottles were working. Dean had found some old paraffin lamps, and whilst the darkness was still obscuring the full illuminating effects, it was an improvement. He was turning pages, bent close to the print to read it. "I'm batting zero here, man," he said to Sam, shaking his head. "At this rate I think we're just gonna have to set the cellar on fire and hope for-"

"No, wait," Sam interrupted, tapping the book he was reading. "So get this – some Thule necromancers could summon vengeful spirits of darkness. They, uh.." he paused, then read what he found aloud, "would bind them to a spell cast upon a victim. If the spell failed to work, the spirit was intended to finish the job. It would gradually take physical form, being born from the shadows, and then stalk the victim. The spirit would only be released from its task when it had killed the victim." He looked up at Dean. "Huh. I think this thing got sicced on us when the Thule attacked us at the library."

"What, so this spirit hitched a ride back here then took physical form?" Dean asked. "So how do we kill it?"

"Yeah, I think so," Sam said, reading the rest of the page. "Uh.. daylight will kill it, but sunrise is still hours away. UV light will do it too, something like a blacklight, but I'm pretty sure we don't have any of those. Very high temperature fire works, but just setting fire to the cellar wouldn't be enough. And there's a dismissing spell, but ugh, it's kinda complicated." He squinted at the pages. "We have everything, though. Might be the best option."

"Alright," Dean got to his feet. "Let's go raid the workshop cupboards and get this son of a bitch sent back where it came from. Tell me you got your legs back, man."

Sam pushed back the chair and got to his feet gingerly. "Not a hundred percent yet," he grimaced, "but I'm moving. Good enough, just don't ask me to be running any races." He picked up the book, marking the page with the spell, and looked up. "It's gotten lighter again," he said. "You definitely compromised this thing."

"Good," Dean said gruffly. "All the easier to see and deal with it." He picked up two of the glow bottles. "Let's go."

* * *

In the ducts above their heads, the clicking of the creature's claws was too faint for them to hear. It, on the other hand, could both hear and smell them. As they walked out of the library, it followed overhead.


	7. Chapter 7

The bunker's 'workshop' was actually a very large store room converted for purpose, discovered by Sam on his explorations. Three of the four walls had shelves filled with an array of jars, boxes, bowls, and weapons. Some had been painstakingly labelled by long dead Men of Letters and arranged in order, such as herbs from acacia to yarrow, various powders and random spell components, whilst others were haphazardly stacked. A table stood off center in the room, and a large floor space allowed room to work. One side of the room had been commandeered by Dean and contained his tool kit and some small car parts.

Sam put the spell book down on the table, opening it back up then started moving around the room with one of the glow bottles to light the labels. "Ok, we need a candle, one of those black ones, and get a silver bowl," he said to Dean, pointing vaguely in the right direction as he plucked other jars from the shelves. The older Winchester complied, using the second glow. Whilst he'd cast his fair share, when it came to spell work he trusted Sam.

"So, how does it work?" Dean asked Sam. "Does it just banish this freaky thing, poof?"

"Uh, kind of," Sam said, grimacing. "Two part spell. The first part will summon it before us. The second-"

"Whoa, wait just a minute," Dean said, interrupting Sam. "Right in front of us? Seriously?" he raised his eyebrows.

"No, no, it's okay," Sam replied quickly. "We draw a binding circle on the ground. Like a devil's trap, but purpose built for the spirit. Stops it from moving whilst I say the second part of the spell. Here," he picked up some chalk and held it out to Dean. "You draw that circle from the book whilst I mix up the ingredients. Make sure you get the symbols right."

Dean checked the book, and started to draw the circle carefully, whilst Sam tipped ingredients into the bowl, and lit the candle. Sam was relieved that the darkness had lifted enough to see what he was doing, and to confirm the candle was lit. Spell work was tricky enough as it was, and screwing up was never good.

* * *

The creature had reached the duct outside of the store room, and it heard its prey talking within. It could smell their blood, still fresh from the recent wounds. Its hackles rose at the recollection of the wounds they had inflicted upon it, still painful, and it bunched its muscles. The covering to the duct was weak, and its weight would remove it. It leapt forward, and the mesh was flung off the duct.

The creature landed on the ground, and sprang through the open doorway of the store room, straight at Dean, who was still focused on drawing the binding circle. The full weight of the creature bowled Dean over, the chalk going flying. He landed on his back, and the creature lunged at his chest, lashing out with its teeth and claws. Dean yelled out in pain as parallel wounds were gouged into his flesh, and rolled over, trying to throw the thing off him.

It happened so fast that Sam had no chance to react before the creature was upon Dean. The brutal attack threw up a hideous flashback in his memory – _hellhound killing him!_ His first instinct was to pull his gun, but with the two of them rolling on the floor, there was too high a chance of hitting his brother. "DEAN!" If he didn't do something fast, the creature would kill him. He put the gun down, and lunged for the silver bowl, now full of spell components. _Part one out the window, straight to part two._ He looked down at the book for the right words, and picked up the candle. " ** _Spiritus, tenebris vocae vos. Lucem vobis exterminat!_** " He touched the flame of the candle to the ingredients within the bowl, and there was a huge flash of light that radiated outwards, filling the whole room. " ** _Redire unde venistis!"_** The creature sank its venomous teeth into Dean's upper arm, and then everything went white. Both brothers squeezed their eyes shut tight to protect them against the burning light, and when Sam opened his again, the darkness was gone, and the creature with it.

Bright red spots danced in front of Sam's eyes, but he rushed around the table and to his brother's side. "Dean! Dean, open your eyes!" He felt for a pulse – fast and strong – and phewed. Dean's t-shirt front was shredded, and his front bloody, but when Sam pushed up the shirt to check, he realised the gouges weren't as bad as they looked. Bandages required for sure, but he was relieved to see that they weren't deep enough to need stitches. "C'mon buddy, wake up. It's gone, you're okay!"

Dean's eyes cracked open. "S'my..?" he mumbled, his words slurred. "B-bit me." He grunted and tried to move limbs that felt suddenly five times heavier. "'m stuck."

"It's okay," Sam assured him, with a half laugh that was mostly one of relief. "It wears off." He looked up at lights that were back on again. "The darkness is gone. C'mon," he heaved his brother off the floor, and draped him over his shoulder. "Let's get patched up." He stumbled and dragged Dean down the corridor to his room and laid him on the bed. Wiping a sweaty hand across his brow, Sam straightened up. "I'll go get the med kit."

Dean flopped his head to the side, noticing the broken, slightly blood stained glass on the floor. "'n more whisky."

Sam smiled, tired but amused. "Yeah. Best damn kind of medicine."

* * *

 **Author's note: Thanks for reading, everyone! This is my first complete fan fiction story, so I hope you enjoyed it. Comments and feedback would really be welcomed, whether positive or constructive. Have a great Christmas!**

 *** for anyone interested, the spell that Sam used to dismiss the spirit translates (with thanks to Google Translate) as "Spirit, the darkness is calling you. Light destroys you. Return to whence you came."**


End file.
